


No Flirting in Medicine

by lbmisscharlie



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/F, Long-Distance Relationship, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:34:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lbmisscharlie/pseuds/lbmisscharlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yes, well, this is what happens when high-powered, ambitious career women are in a relationship,” Paris says, and then, “I miss you too. And your clitoris.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Flirting in Medicine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tartanfics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartanfics/gifts).



“I weep for these men’s lovers.”

Rory cradles the phone in the crook of her neck, says around a mouthful of curry, “What?”

“Medical students, Rory. They’re all idiots.” 

Rory grins. “Yourself excluded, of course.”

Paris scoffs, a crackle over the phone. “One of them didn’t know there were three holes. I thought his head was going to explode when we mentioned the clitoris.” 

“I take it you’ve started your gynecology unit, then?”

“I’m never going to a male gynecologist again,” Paris says instead of answering. Rory doesn’t mention that Paris already sees exclusively female doctors. Supporting exceptional professional women is very important to Paris. “It’s laughably easy,” Paris adds, after a pause. There’s a slight bashful note behind the boasting in her voice; Paris is, paradoxically, used to working hard at things that come easy to her, and she hasn’t yet stopped being surprised at how much fun she’s having at medical school. Rory, on the other hand, is not shocked at all.

“It should be,” Rory says, dropping her voice a little. She likes Paris in all her ways, but especially like this: riled and annoyed and exceptionally pleased with herself.

“Don’t flirt with me, Rory, this is medicine,” Paris answers, but the tone of her voice suggests that she’s not terribly firm in her demand.

“I was only saying,” Rory says, all mock innocence, “that you know your way around a clitoris.” 

Paris exhales. “Just a matter of observation,” she says, more softly. 

“Applied science, surely,” Rory answers. “And I’m glad you take pride in your work.”

A pause. Rory’s been on the campaign trail for almost nine months, and they’ve gotten very good at phone sex. She likes the way Paris’s breath comes very quick, staccato, when she comes, and the disorienting moment after when they’ve both dropped their phones and are fumbling for them in the sheets. She’s full, and warm, and off her feet, and vaguely content, and thinks about telling Paris exactly how she’d like to have move her tongue against Rory’s clit right now.

“I miss you,” Rory says instead.

“Yes, well, this is what happens when high-powered, ambitious career women are in a relationship,” Paris says, and then, “I miss you too. And your clitoris.” 

Rory laughs, surprised and loud. “Thanks?”

“I mean it,” Paris says, in that voice she does that sounds a little too dryly earnest to really be seductive and yet still makes Rory shift in bed. “No diagram can possibly match the splendor of your clitoris.”

“Oh, yeah?” Rory sets her food on the nightstand and settles back into the stack of hotel-room pillows bunched behind her back. “What’s so splendid about it?” she says, and lets Paris’s long exhale wash over her from fifteen hundred miles away.


End file.
